


You Would Not Like The Truth

by SigilBroken



Series: In This Light [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: ADWD spoilers, Endgame, F/M, Gen, In This Light, Post ADWD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2013-08-15
Packaged: 2017-12-23 16:02:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/928431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SigilBroken/pseuds/SigilBroken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks so much to my readers and commenters!</p><p>More to come...</p></blockquote>





	You Would Not Like The Truth

She woke to choking agony.

“ _Pain_ ,” she gasped, for pain was what she felt. Blinding, burning pain. “Pain, _pain_.”

“Eloquent as ever,” Cersei said, looming over her to pour something down her throat. It smelled sickly sweet and tasted like poison. Brienne tried to cover her mouth, but her arms wouldn't move. She looked down to see her body was covered with a thin sheet; two black leather straps held down her torso and arms. 

“No,” she whispered, but then the black claimed her again. 

When next she woke, it was to a plump young maester and Ser Hyle.

“Keep her quiet another day or two,” the maester said, examining the slice on her bare leg, “then halve the milk of the poppy.”

Brienne tried to pull her leg away, to hide it under the blanket. 

“Oh,” Ser Hyle said when he noticed the movement and saw that her eyes were open. Soon he was pouring the thick stuff down her throat again while she sputtered and tried to turn away.

“Where?” she asked him, struggling against the straps as her arm and chest and neck began to writhe in flame.

“Shhh...” He leaned over and soothed his hand across her forehead, and her eyes closed again, though she wanted them open.

The third time she wakened, she kept her eyes closed and listened. 

This time, she heard Jaime's voice. 

“I'm going North,” he said. “This dragon queen can drag her feet, but those are my men up there dying.”

“You have no men. You have no lands, no titles, no home, you've been stripped of everything but the breath in your lungs.”

“I have not forgotten,” he said, “but I will rejoin the fight.”

“Do as you will,” Cersei answered, voice sullen. “I'm not going with you.”

“You are.”

“I am not. I'm going to her island, I'm going to find--”

“Do not,” Jaime said sharply, “ _speak_ of it.”

“You cannot force me into the cold again. I will not go,” Cersei said, a razor edge to her tone.

“I cannot leave you,” Jaime said. “The queen will find a way to use you against me. You saw her face at the trial.”

“The Targaryen girl may scheme as she pleases--”

“She need not scheme,” Jaime said. “She will order and she will be obeyed. Surely you have not forgotten the way of queens. You will come with me if I have to tie you up and gag you.”

“You'd like that.”

“Don't tempt me,” he said softly.

Brienne heard clothing rustle. Heard the unmistakable sound of a kiss. She wanted to open her eyes then, to declare herself awake. _You kept her alive for his sake_ , she told herself, _what he does with her is none of your affair._

“You will not seduce me into going North,” Cersei said breathlessly. “I will not be seduced into anything.”

“No, you will not be seduced,” he said. “You should go to bed. I want to sleep.”

Brienne heard the door snick open. A vision of the two of them slipping into a bed in the next room flashed through her mind. 

“I'm not going,” Cersei whispered. “Take your mare if you need a mount in the North.”

“I'm not riding anymore,” Jaime said. And the door softly closed.

Water sprinkled Brienne's face and she blinked her eyes open, staring up at the half-timbered ceiling of what must certainly be an inn. 

“I know you're awake,” Jaime said, flicking a few more droplets at her as her eyes focused on where he was standing at the foot of the bed.

“Water,” she whispered, realizing how dry her throat was.

He brought her the cup of water he'd dipped his fingers in to splash her face. She drank eagerly, leaning up against the restraints. The faint taste of watered milk of the poppy was strange and wrong on her tongue, but she was grateful they were cutting the dose.

“Do you feel honorable eavesdropping while feigning unconsciousness?”

“I feel honorable enough on my deathbed,” she said, trying to clear the cracks from her voice. Trying not to think of what she'd overheard.

“You don't sound like you're on your deathbed.”

“I feel like I'm dying,” she said, trying to stretch, but encountering pain with every movement.

“By rights you should be dead,” he said.

“So should you.”

He smiled. “This queen may have dragons, but she never reckoned on you.”

“When will you leave? Are we still in King's Landing?”

“Still in King's Landing. We leave in three days.”

“Untie me. Please.”

“Will you promise not to tear your wounds open?” he asked. “The maester said if you lost one more drop of blood your heart would cease to beat.”

“I promise.”

He reached down to loosen the strap across her hip, his undertunic billowing open over his chest as he leaned over and worked at the buckle on her abdomen. He paused for a moment and looked up at her, a smile flitting over his clean-shaven face.

“I don't know,” he said, “it's rather nice having you strapped down.”

“ _Jaime_ ,” she said warningly, the feel of his fingers through the thin sheet somehow suppressing all the feelings of pain which had been consuming her mind but a moment before.

“A champion in chains,” he whispered, as he moved to the strap over her breasts. This time, his fingers brushed the brutal scar across her chest and she hissed in pain.

When she was released, she tried to bring her hands up over her head to stretch, but her left hand and arm screamed in protest, and her upper body lifted off the bed in an attempt to fight the pain.

“My arm!” she gasped.

He pushed at her shoulders, forcing her to lie back again.

“Careful,” he said. “You're only held together with thread and bandages. Move too quickly and you'll break into more pieces than Ser Robert.”

Brienne stared down at the bandages on her arm and hand, trying to move her fingers. “Will I ever use my hand again?” she asked. 

He shrugged. “You've me to thank for it not being removed at the elbow as the maester tried to insist.”

She gripped his tunic with her right hand. “ _No_.”

Again, he pushed her back onto the bed, the thin sheet sliding dangerously low. Releasing him, she held the sheet to her breasts with her right hand.

“I won't let them take your hand,” he said as she stilled. “You won't be like me.”

“Did her grace undress me?” she asked, looking away from him in vague embarrassment as he sat next to her on the bed.

“Learn to call her Cersei before the new queen uses your loyalty to the _usurpers_ as an excuse to have you executed.”

“Was it... _Lady_...Cersei?”

Jaime looked down at her and raised his eyebrows. “It was not.”

Brienne felt her cheeks turning red and cursed herself. She should be beyond such things, life was too harsh for modesty. But she had to know. “Not you?”

“Not me?” The corner of his mouth pulled up mockingly.

“Just leave me,” Brienne said, turning away from him. “Go to bed, I am well enough on my own.”

“It was Hyle and that maester he scrounged up who stripped you down to your skin, does that ease your maidenly indignation? I was too busy being stripped of everything the girl could think to take from me,” he said.

Her blush continued to flame at the thought of Ser Hyle undressing her, but she kept her face turned away so Jaime wouldn't see.

“Did she take your beard as well?” she asked, hoping to distract him.

He laughed softly. “Have you not noticed how warm this room is? We've kept a fire blazing in here for days. I couldn't stand my beard in this heat. My blood has begun to run cold in this wretched winter. You're lucky to find me clothed at all, I've been sleeping in nothing just to be able to stand it.”

“Go find the cold, then,” she said, ignoring his attempts to embarrass her. “Go to your bed, I will sleep well enough tonight.”

“You're _in_ my bed,” he said. “Shove over and share the thing if you're not dying.”

He lay next to her atop the sheet and she groaned as she moved her broken body to make room for him. But there was no question that she _would_ make room. It wasn't the first time they'd shared a bed. His body at her side was a familiar, beloved, aching torture. Everything she wanted lay beside her, forever out of reach.

“You only want her to come in and find us like this in the morning,” she muttered, feeling the drugged sleep creep over her again.

“What choice do I have? You ordered me to go to bed,” he said, raising up on his elbow to look down at her with some mischief in his green eyes. He looked so young without his beard. She gazed up at him as he shimmered in the firelight, the masculine scent of him making her long to turn her face into his neck and bury her nose there. 

“When have you ever followed my orders?” she asked, feeling the milk of the poppy take its toll as her tongue began to feel too large for her mouth.

“Tyrion made you commander of the Lannister forces,” he said. “I've no choice but to warm your bed if you demand.”

She tried to laugh. “You jest.”

“No, Brienne, I am earnest as sunlight,” he said.

But she couldn't say if it was real or a dream, for sleep took her again.

In the morning, Hyle was at her side, ready to shove gruel down her throat and Jaime was nowhere to be seen. She slept again after eating a few bites and did not wake again until the sun was down, though it may have only been afternoon. 

“My lady,” Tyrion Lannister greeted her. He was seated on a chair beside the bed.

“My lord?” She was groggy, her throat full of cobwebs.

“Here,” Jaime appeared and handed her a cup of water which she sniffed suspiciously. “It's only water,” Jaime said.

She drank gratefully, watching the brothers as they neither looked at, nor spoke to one another.

“My lady,” Tyrion began again, “allow me to congratulate you on your victories.”

“You wanted me to lose,” Brienne said softly.

Jaime laughed and sat next to her on the bed, his hip resting against hers.

“Yet, you won,” Tyrion said with a small smile, seeming to ignore Jaime. “I am naming you commander of my forces.”

“I am a lady of the Stormlands,” Brienne said.

“Nevertheless, you have served the Lannisters,” Tyrion said.

Jaime's knowing smile as he glanced at his brother and rolled his eyes slightly made her breath catch for a moment. 

“I serve Ser Jaime, not the Lannisters,” Brienne said.

“Jaime, Brienne, it's just Jaime now. I'm not even a knight anymore,” Jaime said with a light tone which didn't match the weight of his words.

What more could they take from him?

 _Cersei._ The thought shuddered through her mind in Jaime's voice.

“Lady Brienne,” Tyrion said, “I believe if you are in command Jaime will stay with you. Will you accept command?”

Brienne understood then. Tyrion must have talked to his bannermen and understood that Jaime was needed to continue the fight. But he couldn't defy his queen by returning his brother to any of his former glory. She would be a figurehead, nothing more, someone for Jaime to command through. Who else could be named who wouldn't try to steal the glory for themselves? 

“Name Ser Ilyn,” she said, looking first at Tyrion, then at Jaime. “He'll be a better figurehead than I.”

Jaime smiled at her, and she knew he was happy she'd seen through it.

“Take it,” Jaime said. “You won't be a figurehead.”

Tyrion fidgeted at that. “Obviously I would hope that you would heed any advice Jaime might give you. If you will accept, all you would need do is swear fealty to Daenerys--”

“No,” Brienne said.

“No?” Tyrion asked.

“I will not give an oath lightly. Nothing your queen has done shows her to be worthy of my allegiance,” she said.

Jaime stared at her.

Tyrion gave her an assessing glance. “You jest, my lady. You must swear allegiance to the crown.”

“I will not. Your queen has abandoned the fight. As we speak, the innocent in the North fall by the thousands. Your wife--”

“Yes, I'm well aware where my wife is,” Tyrion snapped. “I am trying to return as many men to the fight as I am able, but I am being thwarted by a--”

“ _Lady_ ,” Jaime cut in.

“Did the queen not allow you to champion Jaime?” Tyrion asked her.

“Yes, as soon as she was certain I could not survive the fight. She wanted Jaime to watch me fail him,” she said.

“She wanted me to watch you _die_ ,” Jaime corrected, his eyes searching her face as though he was just seeing her for the first time. Had he thought her so lacking in wits she would not understand what the dragon queen was trying to do?

 _He thinks you lacking in everything,_ the voice in her head taunted.

“You must swear,” Tyrion said softly.

“No,” she said. “Find some other commander.”

“Even if you are not my commander, my lady, you must give your allegiance or you will never leave King's Landing,” Tyrion said.

“I will not.”

“Will you give an oath of loyalty to me?” Tyrion asked.

“No.”

Tyrion gave a wry shake of his head. “Will you give an oath of loyalty to Jaime?”

Brienne looked up into Jaime's bemused face.

“I swear I will heed any sound advice Jaime gives me,” she said. “I swear I will protect him with my life.”

Jaime scowled and stood.

“I suppose that's better than nothing,” Tyrion said, easing off the chair onto the floor. “I wish you good fortune, my lady.”

Tyrion and Jaime exchanged awkward nods as Tyrion exited the room.

“Why did you do it?” Jaime asked as soon as the door closed, turning back to her with a fiery look.

“We need to return to the North and that was a vow I could--”

“Why did you _do_ it?”

“I am a fool,” she said, glaring at him, blaming him for a brief moment for what he would never give her.

“A fool?” He sat in the chair Tyrion had used, the look he gave her resentful. “A fool who could not face me in my black cell. A fool who would not hear that there are debts I do not wish to owe.”

“You owe me nothing.”

“All that remains to me I owe to you,” he said softly, leaning forward in the chair, eyes closed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It is your honor holding my ghosts at bay.”

“There are no debts between us,” she said. “Or shall we speak also of what I owe you? At Harrenhal--”

“And now you swear to protect my life with your own--”

“I had already sworn that,” she whispered.

“You will throw your life away for nothing,” he said.

“Not for nothing.”

“You need something for your pain,” he said, ignoring her words, standing up from the chair and crossing the room to mix some milk of the poppy into her water. 

The door opened then and Ser Hyle entered. “Food,” he said, holding up a bowl of gruel as he came to sit beside her. 

“Make her drink this when she's done,” Jaime said, handing the cup of water to Hyle. The two men exchanged a look and then Jaime left the room.

“Tyrion Lannister has named me commander of his forces,” Brienne told Ser Hyle.

Hyle smiled as she took a bite of the food. “I know. All of King's Landing knows. You should hear what they are saying in the streets, the rumor is that you have captured the Imp's heart.”

“Because we're both ugly and maimed?”

“Because you're twice his height, I think,” he said. “The two of you make for quite a vision.”

“He has a wife,” she said taking one last bite of the gruel before she handed the half-full bowl back to him.

“That only makes for a better tale,” Hyle said.

“Please give me the milk of the poppy,” she said. “I wish to sleep so I may wake to find this day was only a fever dream.”

Hyle laughed and handed her the cup. “Yes, let us see if it was all a dream when you awake.”

“Thank you, ser,” Brienne said, recalling what Jaime had told her the night before, trying not to blush at the idea of Hyle seeing her unclothed. “Jaime said you found the maester.”

“I know him. He wishes to make his way North with us. I was going to ask your permission, as my commanding officer--”

Brienne groaned and rolled her eyes. “You need no permission to bring along a maester.”

“Ah, well, you haven't asked how I know him.”

“How?”

“He is Randyll Tarly's son,” Hyle said. “Though he's as unlike his father as night is day. He is a man of the Night's Watch and would make his way back to his brothers.”

Her eyelids were growing heavy, but she nodded. “If you find him worthy, that is enough. I'll judge no man by his sire.”

“Thank you, my lady,” he said.

“Brienne. Let us not go back to formality now.”

“But you hold the command and deserve all respect,” he said with a chuckle.

Brienne wanted to answer, but sleep took her once more.

For the next few days, she was as quiet as the maester wished her to be, resting for the journey ahead. Jaime saw to the preparations for their journey when he wasn't sniping with Cersei about the necessity that his sister stay at his side.

The morning of their departure Brienne rose and shoved Jaime out of bed and out of the room so she could dress. He had to help her down the stairs of the inn. She noticed that his sword had been returned to him, the lion headed hilt of Widow's Wail was more beautiful than her own sword, though Oathkeeper was longer, wider, and heavier.

Brienne could still hear Tommen's voice as he held out the sword. _”Take the sword, ser uncle...”_

"My lady," Tyrion greeted her and snapped her out of her reverie. The small man made a slight bow as she hobbled out into the stable yard.

"My lord," Brienne said. "I hope you will join us soon."

"I will do what I can," Tyrion said.

Brienne nodded and limped toward her horse which had been brought closest to the inn door. Jaime and Cersei exited the inn, bundled in leathers and fur. They stopped before their brother and Brienne scarcely hid her curiosity in their conversation.

"Here we are," Tyrion said.

"Yes, here we are," Cersei said, her gaze sharp and glittering as she took in her little brother.

"I was sorry to hear about Tommen and Myrcella," Tyrion said, his tone smooth and low.

"I imagine you must have been," Cersei said, "you wanted to rape and kill them yourself, no doubt."

Tyrion let his head tilt to the side with a quiet smile. "Yes, you've always known me so well. Still, sweet sister, I am sorry to see the lines and creases your losses have wrought on your beautiful face."

Cersei's rage could be felt even from a few paces away. “While you have only grown more handsome, sweet brother. I imagine the ladies in Essos swoon over noseless half-men.”

Jaime glanced between his siblings and chuckled, his eyes meeting Brienne's for a moment as though he wanted someone to share the laugh with him.

Tyrion pulled a fist sized pouch from his waist and tossed it to Jaime who fumbled and caught it against his chest with his golden hand.

"What's this, then?" Jaime asked.

"Your inheritance," Tyrion said. "Never say I left you with nothing."

Jaime let the pouch drop to the ground. Cersei sneered and turned away, giving Tyrion a cruel smile as she walked past her brothers toward her horse.

"Well, my lord," Jaime said, kicking the pouch of coins toward Tyrion, "if I survive until you deign to arrive on your dragon, I imagine I will see you in the North. Don't forget to bundle up, lest you catch a chill, you are not in Essos anymore."

"Watch your back, Jaime," Tyrion said.

"Threat or warning?" Jaime asked with a small smile his brother returned.

"Both," Tyrion replied, nodding once before he walked away.

Jaime watched his brother walk away for a moment then glanced at Brienne. She wanted to smile at him, but couldn't.

"My lady, may I have a word?" a female voice asked from behind her.

Brienne turned to see the fierce dark haired girl from the Vale, the one who had helped Sansa escape Baelish, before Ser Shaddrich found them and tried to return Sansa to Cersei. When last Brienne had seen her, the girl had been bedridden with a broken leg thanks to Ser Shaddrich and his comrades.

"Mya Stone, is it not?" Brienne asked.

"Yes, my lady. It is said you travel North, that you will press on to Winterfell," Mya said. "I would join you. I am unable to return home and King's Landing is not...to my liking. I thought I may seek service with Lady Al--Lady _Sansa_."

"Yes, we hope to reach Winterfell. Though I know not if we will survive the journey. You are welcome to join us. Can you fight?" Brienne asked, looking the girl over and noting that she still wore breeches and leather. She was tall for a woman, though more than half a head shorter than Brienne.

"Yes, my lady," Mya replied.

"Ser Hyle!" Brienne called out. Hyle appeared from inside the stables and, recognizing Mya, gave the girl an assessing look. "Find a horse for Mya Stone, please. She will join us."

Hyle nodded and escorted Mya away.

"Another mouth to feed," Jaime said in a low voice from behind her.

"Another body to join the fight," Brienne said.

Jaime mounted his horse and shook his head in exasperation.

With a pain filled groan, Brienne mounted her own horse. She gave a signal and they rode out of the inn yard and into the street.

Brienne thought it merely an odd coincidence that so many people lined the street as they began to wind their way toward the walls of the city, but with every turn they made more and more crowds could be seen--women hanging out of windows, children halting their play, shopkeepers stepping away from their wares, all quietly watching them pass. Beside her, she saw Jaime rest his hand on the hilt of Widow's Wail. There were no shouts for their heads, no cries of hatred, no signs of ill will. Here and there, Brienne caught small nods of respect, but mostly she saw the fear, the knowledge of what their party would face. A threat to drive fear into hearts even this far South. Then she realized the crowds were offering the same respect they would give a passing funeral procession. 

Above them, a lone dragon circled and seemed to follow their progression through the city. Brienne knew from the size and color of the creature that it was Daenerys Targaryen herself who watched them from on high.

The first sennight of the journey passed in a haze of pain and cold for Brienne. Every night she nearly fell out of her saddle and every morning it was all she could do to rise and mount again. She dared not show any pain, aware every moment of the weight of her command.

“Should I knight him?” Ser Addam asked her one night by the campfire, nodding at Jaime.

Despite her fatigue and pain and the haze of the small dose of milk of the poppy she'd taken, Brienne laughed a bit at that.

“He's as like to stab you as thank you, ser,” Brienne replied.

Ser Addam had smiled and nodded in agreement. “It's just so ludicrous,” he muttered. 

Brienne agreed. Whenever someone called him ’my lord’ or ’ser’, Jaime was quick to correct them with a grave shake of his head and a mournful tone Brienne knew was in jest, even if most who heard it did not.

“What am I to call you, then?” Hyle had demanded of Jaime one day as they rode through an abandoned village. “Squire?”

“I'm a bit old to be the lady's squire,” Jaime had said, his laughing eyes finding Brienne's. “I think of myself more as her aged advisor; the elder brother to whom she comes for wisdom.”

“Sweet of you to feel so _brotherly_ toward your young commander,” Cersei had said with a honeyed venom Brienne wished she'd never heard. “I have nothing but _warm_ memories of your brotherly advice and wisdom.”

Hyle had cleared his throat and ridden toward the flank of their column. Brienne had merely watched the Lannister twins exchange a look that was full of both heat and hatred. She had wished she could excuse herself along with Hyle, though when she turned and saw that he was riding beside Mya Stone at the rear of the column she had to smile.

By the time they reached the Trident, after another fortnight, they began to run into straggling groups of wights, more and more by the day. They were forced to keep the horses at the center of camp and double the watch. Ringing their campfires around the edges of the tents, there were few restful moments even for those not on watch.

“There are too many,” Jaime said one night beside the campfire as they heard a patrol group fighting. “Whatever forces remain at the Neck have failed or are failing.”

“We have seen no White Walkers, yet,” Brienne said, unwilling to contemplate the losses which must have been suffered by the men they'd left. And she returned with no more than the three hundred men who had ridden South at the insistence of the dragon queen.

“Brienne,” Jaime said softly, moving closer to her side, away from the others sharing their fire. “If Daenerys will not come North...”

“Ser Loras had said his brother would attempt to send help,” Brienne replied in a near whisper as she watched Ser Hyle draw a laugh from Mya Stone across the flames of the campfire. 

“That was months ago. They have their hands full with the Ironborn. Besides, you know they will be forced to bend the knee first. Mace was in too thick with Aegon,” Jaime said. 

“What are you two talking about so earnestly?” Cersei asked them as she came to sit beside Jaime, a skin of wine in her hand. “Trying to decide whose cock is bigger?”

Jaime grinned. “Mine.”

Cersei's answering smile was tight. Brienne willed away her blush, looking away from Jaime and Cersei and back toward Hyle and Mya.

“Ah yes, young love,” Cersei said, following Brienne's gaze. “How sweet. I wonder if she knows he's penniless?”

Brienne glanced around Jaime at Cersei. “He's a good man. A decent match for any woman.”

“Jealous? I thought you refused him,” Cersei said, looking away from Brienne to give Mya a long stare. “He does like his women big. And manly. And in breeches.”

“Breeches leave very little to the imagination,” Jaime said casually, pretending to examine his golden hand.

“It's a wonder more whores don't wear them,” Cersei said.

Brienne struggled to her feet and walked away from them. She knew the conversation would not grow more tame. Ser Ilyn was returning from patrol as she hobbled toward her tent. She saw the blood on his hands and stopped him.

“Your blood?” she asked. 

He shook his head in denial and gave her one of his eerie smiles. She wondered how many more wights they would encounter the next night. She entered her small pavilion tent, collapsing onto her bedroll with a groan.

“Brienne.”

She looked up to see Jaime had entered the tent.

“What?” she snapped, tired and hurting.

“They have encountered three groups of more than twenty wights tonight,” he said, sitting beside her bedroll.

“There is nothing to do but fight them,” she said. 

She heard his smile, though she could not see it in the scant light. “I'm only delivering the message to my commander,” he said.

“Stop, Jaime. I am not your commander.”

He sighed loudly in the dark but did not leave.

“Cersei will never thank you,” he said. “She would not know how.”

Brienne blinked. “I expected no thanks. I did not do it for thanks. Besides, she knows I didn't do it for her.”

“Yes.” He took in a fortifying breath. “ _Brienne_ \--”

His tone made her blush, made her stomach drop as though she was falling. It was the tone one used to explain a simple, uncomfortable truth to a child.

“If you're going to thank me, save it until morning, I'm half asleep,” she said, hoping she could stop him, hoping he would leave it alone--leave _her_ alone.

Jaime released another long sigh and rose to his feet, staring down at her. She could just make out the dark shape of him above her. 

“I don't,” he paused, and she thought he smiled again, “ _deserve_ you.”

He may as well have said what he meant: _I don't want you._

Brienne wished she could give him some retort, but she didn't trust her voice. 

For a moment she was afraid he would talk again, but then he turned and left.

She brought her right hand up to cover her face, feeling the warmth in her cheeks, wishing she could hide in her tent and never face him again.

Early the next day, they rode past the place their last camp had been before the dragons had come and saved them. Past the charred trees where the dragons had cleared swaths of wights and White Walkers alike. Daenerys Targaryen had seemed like a gift from the gods that night. And when it was clear the battle was nearly won, Brienne had grabbed Jaime's arm and begged him to run. 

How he'd scoffed at her. How he had laughed at the idea of running, even when she begged him for Cersei's sake.

“Shall I be the lion who cowered, Brienne?” he had asked her, shaking her grip from his arm.

She was so lost in the memory, lost in the dread of it that she missed Hyle's question. 

“Brienne,” Hyle said again, “should we stop and camp here?”

“No. We press on,” she said. They needed to move as far as they could during daylight. Wherever the remaining forces of the Westerlands and the straggling brave souls who had joined them were, they were in desperate need of relief.

That night after they made camp their perimeter was constantly bombarded, every point hit to check for weaknesses.

“White Walkers,” Jaime said ominously. They knew this tactic, it spoke of organization the wights could not manage on their own.

“I will see to it all the torches are made ready,” Hyle said, walking toward the center of the camp.

“I must see to Cersei,” Jaime said.

_Yes, you must see to Cersei._

Brienne turned to see Mya Stone standing behind her. “Have you been told what to do?” Brienne asked her.

“Burn the wights, dragon glass for the White Walkers,” Mya replied. A flash of mirth brightened her eyes. “And my dagger for any man who thinks to look for a woman after the fight.”

Brienne nodded and tried to smile. “Has Ser Hyle found you a weapon?”

Mya unsheathed a short sword. Embedded in its steel blade were shards of dragon glass, glimmering dark rainbows in the firelight. “Ser Hyle says the blacksmith will make me a new one better suited to my height when we reach the Neck.”

Brienne nodded. Few were fortunate enough to have Valyrian steel. Gendry's embedded blades had saved countless lives and would save countless more. _Provided he and his fellow fighters still live,_ she thought.

“My lady,” the young maester called to her. “Would you like a bit of milk of the poppy before I am called away?”

“No, thank you, I must be sharp for battle,” she said.

“You should not use a sword yet, my lady,” the maester said.

“I must. We all may need to fight before dawn. Have you been told what to do, maester?”

The maester gave her a kind, sad smile and nodded. “I know what to do, my lady. I am a man of the Night's Watch.”

Brienne turned back to Mya. “Stay close to Ser Hyle, follow his lead.”

Mya nodded. “Yes, my lady.”

“You _have_ taken to command,” Jaime said as he rejoined her, nodding toward Mya's retreating back. “Offering encouragement to your soldiers.

“She's a young girl on the cusp of her first battle,” Brienne said.

Jaime snorted. “She's probably older than you.”

Brienne looked sharply at him, then glanced at Mya. “Do you think so?”

Jaime only shook his head at her and chuckled.

They stopped to take up torches. Brienne's left hand was still useless so she carried her torch and kept her blade sheathed just as Jaime did, planting the torch in the snow beside her when they reached their section of the perimeter. 

“Think you can do this one handed?” he asked as they stood waiting for the next wave of attack.

“If you can, I can,” she said, and when he laughed she found herself smiling.

“We'll see,” he said.

“What did you do with Cersei?” she asked.

“I put her on a horse in the middle of camp and told her to ride like fury if the camp was overrun,” he said.

“You still think she's safer here than in King's Landing?”

“Yes,” he said, giving her a sharp look, his face flickering in the torchlight. “Not that she's safe anywhere.”

“When will it be safe for her to go to Tarth?” she asked softly.

Jaime glanced around quickly and whispered, “Don't speak of that.”

Brienne sighed. Jaime's fanatical adherence to secrecy meant he would not discuss the future. She missed Pod, wondered how he was, hoped he was well, longed to see him.

A cold gust of wind brought a sudden snowfall. There was a scuffling in the forest to their left and suddenly wights were pouring out of the trees around them. She stayed at Jaime's right, just like she always did. Only now she was grateful he was covering her weakened left side, Widow's Wail making a wet spray of a misty White Walker she was too slow to stop herself. The battle was not so awful as they'd feared and when they began to move back into the camp to assess the casualties she knew Jaime shared her sense of relief. She was smiling from the rush of battle, from the thrill of having Jaime by her side. 

Then Cersei's scream rent the frigid night air. Jaime took off toward the sound at a dead run and Brienne struggled to follow him, her leg protesting every step.

They found Cersei still ahorse, her mount tangled in a half standing tent. A bedraggled, dark haired creature sat behind the saddle with a dagger to Cersei's throat.

Jaime stood brandishing his blade, slowly approaching the spooked horse while some of the men circled around the tent to surround the horse. “Someone bring me a torch,” Jaime said. 

“She is not a wight.” The young maester who was Randyll Tarly's son approached the horse alongside Jaime.

“Release her,” Jaime told the girl, “take the horse. We'll let you go.”

The blade at Cersei's throat tightened as the girl tried to urge the horse to move out of the tent. Suddenly the horse reared and both riders went flying. Cersei landed on her back but quickly righted herself, crawling away from the tent, hampered by her skirts. Jaime and some of the others closed in on the tent and the little assassin.

“ _You_ ,” Cersei hissed when the girl rose from the tent, dagger in hand, looking around at the approaching men, clearly assessing which was the weakest.

“Who is she?” Brienne asked as she pulled Cersei to her feet. 

“The Stark brat,” Cersei spat.

“Arya?” Brienne asked.

The girl's eyes flicked slightly at the sound of her name.

Jaime continued to advance on Arya Stark, his sword raised. “Put down the dagger,” he said, “and we won't harm you.”

Brienne limped toward the surrounded girl, drawing Oathkeeper as she went. When she stood beside Jaime, she knelt, lowering her head and laying Oathkeeper at the girl's feet.

“My lady, I swore an oath to your mother to return you to your family,” Brienne said, hoping to save the girl. “My blade is yours.”

Jaime drew a sharp breath and looked down at Brienne as she looked back up at him.

“Jaime, _do not_ ,” Cersei said. “She was always a little monster.”

Brienne glanced up at Arya, seeing no softening in the girl's eyes. “My lady, none will harm you.”

“Seize her!” Cersei tried to order some of the men. “Have you all gone mad?”

Brienne recalled how the young dragon queen had addressed Cersei.

“Cersei Lannister does not hold the command of this camp, my lady, I do,” Brienne said, glancing up pleadingly at Arya again.

Jaime grunted angrily at Brienne's words, but threw Widow's Wail down at Arya Stark's feet. “I also swore an oath to your mother to return you,” Jaime said.

Arya moved quick as a cat, standing over the black and red blades they had lain before her. The girl's dagger slipped up to Jaime's throat, the tip drawing a drop of blood. Jaime held still, arms at his side, staring down at her. 

“My lady,” Brienne said soothingly, afraid she had gambled too greatly. “Please do not harm him. You are free to stay here or go as you wish. I knew and loved your lady mother. Lady Catelyn once told me she despaired of making a lady of you.”

Arya glanced down at Brienne out of the corner of her eye. 

“Lady Arya,” the young maester said as he stepped forward. “We travel to Winterfell, your brother Jon is there. I almost feel I know you, so great is your resemblance to him. He told me the story of Needle once. I am his sworn brother, my name is Sam. I know him well, I would see no harm come to you.”

Arya stared long at the young maester, her head tilted to the side in recognition or contemplation, then she dropped her blade from Jaime's throat.

Brienne released the breath she had been holding and Jaime glared down at her. She knew he was furious that she was freeing Cersei's would-be assassin.

“Come, my lady, I will see you are fed,” Brienne said, struggling to her feet. She turned and limped away, hoping the boot steps she heard behind her were those of the lost Stark girl, found at long last.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to my readers and commenters!
> 
> More to come...


End file.
